


The Violet Hour

by Bouncey



Series: To Carry Your Marks [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Brotherly Love, Cause I'm Tired of Him Always Being a Dick, Fluff and Smut, Found Family, Geralt Can Have a Soulmate as a Treat, Jaskier Just Smells Good Ok?, Jaskier calls Geralt "Flower" a lot, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Nice!Vesemir, Overprotective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scenting, Smut, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Winter At Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey
Summary: “Will he also be joining us, then?” Lambert asked. “If I was your Beloved I certainly wouldn’t let you run off by yourself with people like us.”“He’ll be coming along very shortly, I suppose.”As if summoned by the bard’s words, Geralt came striding back into the keep. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold wind and he’d pulled his hair into a low ponytail; the sight nearly brought Jaskier to tears. He is absolutely delicious; what am I going to do about myself if he wanders around looking like that all the time? His Flower’s gruff voice interrupted him again, “What have you told them?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: To Carry Your Marks [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807651
Comments: 32
Kudos: 853





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Violet Hour" - Sea Wolf
> 
> The lyrics apply heavily to chapter 2, so you should definitely give it a listen and get ready for some SMUT my guys.
> 
> This chapter is all fluff, though, because writing smut is really hard for me for some reason and I needed a hot minute to edit. Enjoy!

“Is this it?” Jaskier asked, gazing up at the high walls of Kaer Morhen with undue awe. Before Geralt could answer, or reach to help him down from Roach’s saddle, the white-haired Witcher was tackled to the ground by two equally enormous men. Jaskier made a confused, worried noise and the two strangers rose to their feet just as fast as quickly as they’d taken Geralt off of his. 

“Geralt, who the fuck is riding your horse?”

“Who brings a guest to  _ Kaer Morhen _ ?”

“This,” the white-haired Witcher introduced as he rose back to his feet, “Is Jaskier.”

“Okay, yeah, but why did you bring him _here_? And why is he _on your horse?_ ” the shorter of the two strangers asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Geralt rolled his yellow eyes and Jaskier felt a warm rush of affection rip through him. The stranger’s nostrils flared and he shot the bard a curious look. _Oh right, Witchery senses and all that nonsense. Shit, will they be able to smell it if I get turned on?_ _Gods dammit._

“Do you want to explain or should I?” Geralt asked, interrupting his racing thoughts.

“Well I  _ am  _ the bard,” Jaskier grinned. “So I suppose it’s only my duty to inform these lovely men about myself. But first, do you two adorable strangers happen to have a fire inside by any chance? I cannot feel my toes.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

Geralt had removed the bard from Roach’s back and bundled him into the Great Hall of the keep before another word could be spoken. The two strangers, who Jaskier guessed to be Lambert and Eskel from Geralt’s descriptions and anecdotes, followed behind at a measured pace. Roach meandered toward the stable on her own, well-trained as she was. As soon as the bard was seated before a roaring fire, however, Geralt disappeared out the door again to take care of her. Jaskier found no fault with his abandonment; Roach was Geralt's best friend, after all. 

Eskel took a sprawling seat on the bearskin rug while Lambert claimed an overstuffed chaise to lounge against. They glanced between each other and Eskel spoke up, “So Jaskier, tell us why you’ve come to visit Kaer Morhen for the winter; perhaps the most dangerous place for a human to be, much less a skinny, defenseless bard like yourself.”

“I’m anything but defenseless, darling Eskel. My Beloved is incredibly strong and horribly overprotective of me.”

“And yet they let you come to stay the season with three Witchers?”

“He was actually the one who suggested it,” Jaskier shrugged. “And I always let him get his way in the end.”

“Will he also be joining us, then?” Lambert asked. “If I was your Beloved I certainly wouldn’t let you run off by yourself with people like _us_.”

“He’ll be coming along very shortly, I suppose.”

As if summoned by the bard’s words, Geralt came striding back into the keep. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold wind and he’d pulled his hair into a low ponytail; the sight nearly brought Jaskier to tears.  _ He is absolutely delicious; what am I going to do about myself if he wanders around looking like that all the time?  _ His Flower’s gruff voice interrupted him again, “What have you told them?”

“Only that my Beloved is  _ very  _ protective of me. Your lovely brothers want to know if he’ll be visiting.”

“You are  _ impossible, _ ” Geralt chastised. 

“I know. And yet...” Jaskier leaned up to give his Witcher a gentle kiss on the cheek. His lips were warm against Geralt’s frozen skin and the White Wolf let out a content sigh.

“Excuse me?” Eskel coughed. “Does your Beloved mind you doing  _ that,  _ sir bard? And will you ever answer our question?”

“Are you two really so dense?” a third, deeper voice asked. Vesemir strode into the room, clearly trying to suppress an amused smile. “I thought I taught you better.”

“Vesemir!” the bard rejoiced, springing up from his seat. “It's wonderful to finally meet you in person. What a darling brood of absolute idiots you’ve raised!”

“Thank you, Jaskier, it was my pleasure.”

“How goes your reading?”

“I’ve finally begun the poetry book you sent me. It’s quite lovely so far; I hadn’t expected such flowery verse to come from Skellige.”

Now even Geralt was confused by the conversation

“What?” Jaskier asked, blue eyes flickering with mirth. “I can’t write a letter to my Beloved’s own father? I can’t send him a ‘Thank you for raising the man who would one day sweep me off my feet’ present?”

“Oh.”

That was Eskel.

“Geralt, you horse’s arse!”

That was Lambert.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, good bard. I assume you’ll be staying in Geralt’s chambers with him?” Vesemir's attempt to hide his smile failed entirely and a bright grin lit up his wrinkled face. It wasn’t often that he got to tease all three of his adoptive sons at once and Jaskier had been more than willing to play along. The bard may be more of a welcome addition to the keep than he’d initially thought. 

“If he’ll allow it.”

“Oh, I’ll allow it,” Geralt rumbled, taking a seat on the long couch and hauling the bard into his lap. He ran his nose along Jaskier's jawline, breathing in the calming springtime scent. “In fact, I rather insist.”

“Not in front of the kids,” Jaskier blushed. He used one hand to push away from Geralt’s chest while the other gestured wildly at the Witcher’s gob-smacked brothers. Geralt ignored him, continuing to intoxicate himself with Jaskier’s heady scent. 

“You must look like a fucking tapestry under all those clothes,” Lambert smirked. “Pity only Geralt gets to see.”

The Witcher in question growled at the suggestive tone of his brother’s comment, arms tightening around Jaskier’s waist like iron bars. The bard ceased his wriggling and pressed a gentle kiss to Geralt’s forehead. “Oh hush, you big brute. He can’t have me and you know it.”

“Hmmm.”

“Yes, there’s my articulate lover.”

“Lover? Gross.” Lambert pretended to gag.

“You’re just jealous,” Geralt grunted. “Because I got a Beloved who's so pretty and soft.”

“Again, gross.”

“Alright boys, that’s enough lollygagging for now. I think Jaskier has warmed up plenty,” Vesemir interrupted, shooting Geralt a pointed look. “Geralt, you get unpacked and show Jaskier to your room. Lambert, you go outside and grab some firewood for the kitchen. Eskel, please set the table for five.”

“Oh I like you,” Jaskier smiled. He stood, finally released from his Flower’s possessive embrace, and gave his new father-in-law a quick hug. “We’re going to get along like a castle on fire!”

“That’s worrisome,” Eskel stage-whispered.

“Aye,” Lambert agreed. “We’re all doomed.”

“Do you want to run three laps around the keep in the nude?” Vesemir asked, turning to glare at his trouble-making sons. They had disappeared before he could bark the order, Jaskier’s melodic laughter chasing them down the hallway.

“This way,” Geralt murmured, taking his Beloved by the hand and guiding him towards the stairs. “I’ll show you to our room.”

“Thank you, darling. Would Vesemir really make them run three laps around Kaer Morhen  _ naked _ ?” 

“Yes,” the eldest Witcher called from the bottom of the staircase. “And I just might, one of these days.”

“Just let me watch!” Jaskier shouted back. Geralt did  _ not  _ like the gleeful laugh his father released after hearing the bard’s request. Not  _ at all.  _ After they’d rounded a corner and left Vesemir’s range of hearing, the Witcher shook his head in disbelief. 

“How do you do it, Beloved?” 

“Do what?”

“Enchant everyone you meet. Vesemir is a grouchy, angry old man who loves very few and likes even fewer. Lambert is flirtatious, of course, but he hasn’t said anything particularly rude to you. And Eskel! He mopes around worse than I do most of the time and yet he’ll joke with you right away? What are you, Fae?”

“No, I’m just good at talking to people,” Jaskier shrugged. They reached the door to Geralt’s bedchamber and he let the Witcher open it. “Smells like...you.”

“Hmmm.”

The bard stepped nervously inside; this was nearly as intimate as seeing Geralt naked. Scratch that, this  _ was  _ more intimate than seeing Geralt naked. None of the Witcher’s other lovers had ever stepped foot inside Kaer Morhen, much less the White Wolf’s  _ bedroom.  _ Jaskier felt ridiculously proud and more than a little apprehensive, both of which the Witcher picked up on. “Do you want a tour?”

“Oh yes, that would be lovely.”

“Let me start a fire first while you poke around. I know you’re curious.”

“That I am. No mortal has ever been so close to a Witcher’s bedroom before, right?”

Geralt let out a short  _ hmm  _ of assent as he piled logs into the fireplace and fanned the kindling to life. Jaskier did what he was told and poked around. The room was sparsely furnished; a dressing table with a mirror against one wall, a simple desk with two drawers and a very heavy chest in the corner, a wolf pelt on the floor near the fireplace, and a single wooden chair next to that. Simple, clean, and positively  _ Geralt. _

“This is the bed, of course,” Geralt pointed, beginning his tour. It was a nice bed. The frame was built from thick, sturdy oak and the mattress was stuffed with a mixture of wool and feathers. Soft but not overly expensive. The sheets were linen and the whole thing was covered with a mass of different furs and blankets. 

“I am going to do so much  _ cuddling  _ this winter!” Jaskier clapped. Geralt’s sluggish heart sped up when he thought about snuggling into bed with his bard after a long day of training. 

“There’s a dresser with a mirror here, and a basin underneath if you need to wash your face. The pump to refill the water pitcher is in the kitchen, which I’ll show you later. There’s a kettle next to the fireplace if you want hot water in the morning.”

“I love this place already, Flower. I’m so happy that I get to stay here with you.”

“Hmmm.”

“That one sounded pleased.”

“It was. I am. I’m very pleased that you want to stay with me.”

Jaskier could hear the undercurrent of self-consciousness in Geralt’s statement and pulled the Witcher over to sit in the room’s only chair. He plopped himself unceremoniously onto Geralt’s lap and took the Witcher’s face in his hands. “I love you, Geralt of Rivia. My gruff, handsome Witcher. My White Wolf. My Flower. You have protected me and looked after my wellbeing for nearly half a year now, let me learn to take care of you in return. I know that wintering here means doing hard work and training your ass off, but don’t forget that I love you no matter what. We were made for each other. Predestined. Fated. Whatever you want to call it, we are  _ soulmates,  _ Flower _. _ ”

“Hmm. You’re right. I worry too much. If you can watch me kill a Selkimore from the inside out and still want to touch me after then you can definitely handle a winter at Kaer Morhen with my family. I’m just...not used to having someone around yet. I’ll adjust.”

There was a loud banging noise from downstairs followed by several voices cursing. “Maybe we should go help.”

“Hmmm.”

* * *

Dinner was entertaining. Jaskier told jokes and stories, Vesemir traded knowing looks with the bard that worried all three of the Witchers, and Geralt spent the appropriate amount of time glaring down his curious brothers. After everything had been eaten and cleared from the table, Jaskier produced his lute. “Shall I properly introduce myself and my talents? I’d like you all to see that I  _ can  _ be good at something before you put me to work mending fences and chopping wood tomorrow.”

“I suppose a small reunion celebration wouldn’t be out of order,” Vesemir shrugged. His face was impassive but his tone was bright. The bard and his crew of Witchers retired back to their places in the Great Hall, near the fire. Lambert rolled a keg of spirits into the room and uncorked it, pouring mugs for the four Witchers. Jaskier wrapped the lute-strap over his shoulder and glanced around.

“Any requests?”

“Do you write your own songs?” Eskel challenged. Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Of course, darling Eskel. I’m not a  _ heathen. _ ”

“One of those, then!”

“Ah! I shall perform the first song I ever wrote for Geralt,” he decided. Now it was his Flower’s turn to blush. Jaskier strummed the lute and began, “When a humble bard graced to ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…”

By the end of the final chorus, Eskel and Lambert were dancing rather drunkenly together, Vesemir was clapping to the beat, and Geralt’s silvery head was buried in his hands. “Oh that was wonderful!” Eskel laughed. “I cannot  _ believe  _ that Geralt’s Beloved is, of all things, a fucking  _ bard. _ ”

“A rather cute fucking bard,” Lambert added. “The lucky bastard.”

Geralt’s head raised then, a low growl clawing its way out of his throat. “He’s  _ my  _ Beloved, Lambert.”

“That's what you keep insisting, but where’s the proof?”

“What?”

“Where. Is. The. Proof? We haven’t seen any of your marks on him.”

“There are marks all over him, what do you mean?”

“I  _ mean _ that you should both strip down right here, right now. Then we can compare notes and make sure you two really are meant to be together,” Eskel suggested breezily. Geralt knew he was only joking but Jaskier released a nervous breath and the scent of anxiety spiked suddenly out from him.  _ No _ . Geralt wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s midsection again, something the bard was growing to rather enjoy, and shot a poisonous look at his brothers. 

“Absolutely not. You want proof?” he yanked up his own sleeve and waited for Jaskier to do the same. Once their matching lines were revealed, the other Witchers stepped closer for a look. “We match.”

“Awwww, he’s got dandelions all over him?”

“Shut up, Lambert.”

“Well you have bluebells. It only makes sense that he has some wimpy flower, too.”

“I thought Geralt’s marks would have been more violent. This is almost adorable.”

“Hmmm.”

"Are you going to stay after winter, then?" Eskel questioned. Jaskier raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding the question. "Stay on the Path with Geralt?"

“I’m going to be with Geralt for as long as I’m alive,” the bard shrugged once again. It was the only true answer.

“Well we’ve never had a soulmate stick around this long, historically,” Vesemir mused. “So welcome to the family, Jaskier.”

"What a lovely family it is."

"Four Witchers and one brain-dead mortal bard," Lambert chuckled. "What a fuckin' family, eh?"

The thought of his bard being  _ human  _ suddenly struck Geralt straight between the ribs. Vesemir watched the dawning realization on his son’s face and hurried to calm the panicking Witcher. “There’s some lore on Witcher soulmates I’d like to research. Some rituals to peruse. I’m sure Jaskier’s life will be a very  _ long  _ and  _ healthy  _ one.”

Geralt caught the implications, thank goodness, and relaxed his crushing grip on Jaskier’s middle by a fraction of an inch. “Immortality could be fun.”

“We’re not immortal,” Eskel scoffed. “We just have a lot of stamina.”

“Speaking of which,” Vesemir winked ( _ Vesemir  _ of all people; Geralt was mortified). “You should all be heading to bed pretty soon. We start cleaning up the keep tomorrow and training starts next week.”

The three Witchers groaned in unison, like whiny village boys, and Jaskier bit his lip to keep from smiling.  _ He really is just like a puppy sometimes. Or a little kid. So many wonderful life experiences were taken away from him because of the trials; at least true love didn’t have to be one of them.  _

Lambert made a move as if to scoop the bard into his arms but Geralt was too fast. Before Lambert’s arms could reach halfway out, Jaskier found himself slung over the White Wolf’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Or in this case, a captive bride. “Oh sweet Melitele protect me. I'm being kidnapped.”

“Goodnight, Lambert. Eskel.”

“Goodnight Geralt.”

Geralt turned towards the stairs and Jaskier waved from his place over the massive shoulder. “Goodnight boys. See you tomorrow.”

“Hear you tonight, though.”

Geralt rounded a corner before Jaskier could see what happened to the Witcher’s brothers, but from the matching squeals he heard, Vesemir had flicked both men rather roughly on the ear. 

“ _Will_ _they_ be able to hear us?”

“Maybe. Probably not.”

“That’s not a very confident answer,” Jaskier griped as Geralt swung him back down to his feet. The White Wolf backed the bard up against his bedroom door with his broad chest and Jaskier wriggled slightly against him, “I guess I’ll just have to bite my lip and stay quiet.”

"That would be...disappointing." Geralt stepped forward at the same time he opened the door, sending Jaskier windmilling backwards. The Witcher caught the bard around his slim waist, lifted him, and tossed him gently onto the bed. Jaskier's breathing was already heavy and his scent was dripping with  _ want, need, love.  _ Geralt  gave a  _ very  _ canine-heavy grin and stalked towards his prey, who was gazing up at him with heavily lidded eyes. “Time to give you a proper welcome to Kaer Morhen, Beloved.”


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya girl is getting less awkward about writing smut, so that's good (right?). 
> 
> Please enjoy. Let me know what you thought. Constructive criticism is welcome because I'm still figuring out the whole 'writing sex scenes' thing.
> 
> Shout out to KiwiBaer. Your reviews are some of my favs and I hope this lives up to your expectations!

Jaskier gazed up at Geralt’s hungry expression from his place among the blankets and did his best not to scurry backwards on instinct. The fire acted as the room’s only source of light, illuminating one side of the Witcher but leaving the other in flickering shadow. It was almost  _ scary _ to see him stalking across the short room,  _ his room,  _ with that animalistic grin on his face. It was borderline feral. Jaskier sucked in a steadying breath as Geralt reached the edge of the bed and reached out for him. “C’mere, Jas.”

“I don’t know; I was whisked away from my company rather suddenly by some oddly familiar white-haired brute. I might need a moment to recover.” 

Geralt growled something rude under his breath and sat on the edge of the bed, back towards Jaskier.  _ Oh, he thinks I’m being serious.  _ The bard took pity on his Flower, crawling across the mattress to settle into a comfortable sitting position behind him. He braced his hands on the Witcher’s shoulders and ran his nose from the spot behind Geralt’s ear, along his jaw, and down the side of his neck. Jaskier claimed a small, silent victory when his Flower shivered at the gentle contact and tilted his head to give the bard better access. “Silly Flower. I’m not being serious. Of course you can hold me whenever you want.”

“Whenever I want?”

“Absolutely.”

Before he could say another word, he was being tackled backwards onto Geralt’s enormous pile of assorted furs and blankets. Two large, strong arms wrapped around him, effectively trapping his own against his sides. “Hmm. I want to hold you  _ now _ .”

“Do you normally use this many blankets?” Jaskier asked, spitting out a mouthful of fur. One of the Witcher’s calloused fingertips pulled the stray hairs gently from the corner of his bard’s lip where they’d stuck, pressing a gentle kiss in its wake. 

“Gets cold here in the winters. Especially when you’re sleeping alone.”

Jaskier tried to wriggle free so that he could comfort Geralt, but the Witcher wouldn’t loosen his grip in the slightest. “Flower, please.”

“No,” Geralt insisted, pressing his lips to the top of his Beloved’s head. “I don’t want to let you go  _ ever.  _ You’d better get used to it.”

“It’s going to be very hard to perform if I’m wearing you like a cloak.”

“Hmm. Practice.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Are you angry?”

“No. How could I be angry that  _ you,  _ the great Geralt of Rivia, would want to hold  _ me,  _ a humble bard ?”

“Hmm. Who wouldn’t want to hold you?”

“Kiss me, you big oaf.”

His Flower obliged, leaning to press his lips against Jaskier’s. They were warm and slightly chapped; perfect as always. Ready to move things along, the bard nibbled lightly at Geralt’s bottom lip and felt the Witcher practically melt against him. He slipped one of his slim legs between Geralt’s thighs and pressed gently up until the Witcher released a deep, pleased grunt. It took all of his self control not to rut like an animal against his Beloved’s thigh. “Jas.”

“Yes?”

“Touch me, please.”

“Of course, Flower.”

He slowly pulled the hem of Geralt’s shirt from his pants and slipped the garment over his head. Geralt lifted his arms to ease its removal. Jaskier pressed damp kisses along his Witcher’s collarbone and shoulder, reveling in the soft sounds Geralt was choking back. Those golden eyes were already half-lidded and his leather pants were growing  _ uncomfortably  _ tight. The bard’s clever fingers made quick work of the laces; Geralt tilted his hips off the bed and allowed his Beloved to remove them entirely. It was quite possibly the hottest thing Jaskier had ever seen him do and it was also quite possibly going to kill him. 

“Now you kiss  _ me _ ,” Geralt demanded. His Beloved wasn’t going to argue with that. They lost themselves to each other’s mouths for an indeterminate amount of time before Jaskier finally had to pull back for air. His hands were tangled in Geralt’s soft white hair and he used them to pull their foreheads together gently. The Witcher’s deep voice came out soft and slightly nervous, “How do you want to do this?”

“What’s your preference?” Jaskier queried back. 

“Maybe we should have done this before. Figured things out. Gotten some practice.”

“You’re the one who wanted to wait until we had a nice bed and private room,” the bard teased. “So you have to answer first.”

“I like...both?” Geralt offered. 

“Well what are you in the mood for  _ right now _ ?” All Jaskier got in reply to his question was a bright blush and a lack of eye contact. “Oh, I see.”

“But we don’t have to. We can do it the other way, too. That’s fine. Whatever makes you happiest, Beloved.”

“No, that’s more than alright with me,” Jaskier smiled, running a soothing hand down Geralt’s side.  _ Always so eager to please, my darling.  _ “Do you want to undress me?”

Geralt nodded eagerly, back to his usual demanding self. Jaskier’s jerkin, shirt, and pants all landed on the floor in a pile moments later. The Witcher wrapped his hands around his Beloved’s slim hips and pulled the bard against his chest. The feeling of wiry hair and soft skin against his own was heavenly. “Better.”

“Yes, much.”

“You’re so lovely.”

“Oh. Why thank you, Flower. That was very sweet of you.”

Geralt ducked his head, “Well it’s true and I should say it more often. I am  _ very  _ lucky to be your Beloved.”

“And I yours,” Jaskier nuzzled into his Witcher’s neck; he nipped at the place where it met Geralt’s shoulder and felt the other man jerk against him. He grinned against his Beloved’s neck and lowered his voice, “I’ll be right back.”

He extricated himself from Geralt’s grasp and crossed the room to his pack. After digging for a moment he made an exultant noise and returned to his spot on the mattress. “Hmm?”

“I’m not just going in  _ dry, _ ” Jaskier scoffed, holding up a small glass bottle full of  _ very  _ expensive ‘personal lubricant’, which he’d purchased in secret nearly a month previous. “I’m not an  _ animal,  _ Geralt. Although I hope you don’t mind the slightly spicy smell. They add a few drops of clove oil to it for longevity and I think it’s quite lovely. Don’t know if it’ll bother your Witchery nose, though.”

“Thank you for thinking of me, I’m sure I’ll like it.”

Something clenched in the bard’s chest at hearing those words. He swore to make Geralt feel better than he ever had before. Sure, Jaskier may have been young and relatively inexperienced in the world of love, especially in comparison to his partner, but this was his  _ Beloved.  _ His  _ Flower.  _ The man he’d been dreaming of and praying for since he could form a coherent thought. The man whose body had been built for him and who, in turn, his own body belonged to. He was going to make Geralt feel  _ incredible.  _

“On your back, first. Get comfortable.”

Geralt dropped obediently against the mattress and positioned a pillow behind his head. Jaskier smiled encouragingly and wriggled his way down his Flower’s body. He tugged at the edge of the Witcher’s smalls and raised an eyebrow.  _ May I?  _ Geralt nodded and resisted the urge to shudder as Jaskier’s slender fingers tugged them slowly down and off his legs. Bare before his Beloved, Geralt had never felt so safe or so cared for. Or so turned on.

Jaskier coated one of his fingers in the strange viscous substance from the vial and brought it down between Geralt’s slightly spread legs. “Are you, you know?”

“Mhm.”

“Lovely,” Jaskier breathed.  _ He’d prepared for this. He’d taken a bath while I was busy with Vesemir. He knew what he wanted from the start and he was still willing to let me deny him; truly I have been blessed by the Gods. I will not waste it.  _ He kissed his way up and down either side of the V in Geralt’s hips. 

“Stop teasing,” the Witcher growled from beneath him. Jaskier rolled his eyes and took the tip of Geralt’s cock into his mouth at the same time that he slipped the tip of his finger into the Witcher’s body. His Flower gasped, hips tilting into the sensations of Jaskier touching him  _ everywhere.  _

“To think,” the bard mused, pulling off Geralt’s dick for a moment to be sassy. “Your brothers thought they’d be hearing _me_ tonight.”  
Geralt bit the inside of his cheek as Jaskier pushed his finger in further, up to the second knuckle, but failed to mask the whimper that escaped his throat. The bard resumed blowing him, now working a second fingertip in beside the first. He wasn’t nearly as impressive as his Flower when it came to size, but Jaskier wasn’t ashamed of his own anatomy either. It had a lovely curve to it that he had used to impress several young men and women at Oxenfurt. Now the bard hoped to impress his Geralt and _only_ his Geralt for the rest of their lives. As long or as short as they may be.

The Witcher’s hand fisted in his hair as he started scissoring his fingers bit by bit, opening his Flower up carefully. He pulled off for a moment to ask, “Doing alright, love?”

“Hmm,” Geralt nodded enthusiastically, “Feels so good.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m going to add another now, is that alright?” Geralt could only manage a tentative nod. Jaskier licked gently and teasingly at the tip of his cock as he slid another finger slowly in. The Witcher made a choked sound and his dick twitched in Jaskier’s mouth. “So you like to be stretched a little, huh? Interesting.”

If anyone else had said something so horrifically lewd and personal, Geralt would have risen from the bed and immediately stomped from the room in a huff. He would never have spoken to them again. But Jaskier? Gods, he’d let Jaskier do or say just about anything to him. There was a solid trust between them, especially after the bard spent six months bandaging him up and feeding him regularly. So when Jaskier asked if he liked to be stretched a little, all Geralt could do was release a low, heated moan and cover his face with his hands.

“Jas, please.”

“Yes, Flower?”

“Hnn,  _ please _ .”

“Are you ready?” Jaskier asked, curling his three fingers to nudge against Geralt’s prostate and feeling his Witcher shudder beneath him. It was intoxicating to have this much power over such a strong man and the bard tried not to let it go to his head. He paused sucking Geralt’s cock to kiss a trail up his chest. He took one of the Witcher’s nipples into his mouth, flicking it with his agile tongue and curling his fingers again at the same time.

“ _ Gods yes, I’m ready!”  _

“Shh,” Jaskier winked. His fingers were brushing against Geralt’s most sensitive spot lazily as he switched between kissing, nipping, and laving at the Witcher’s nipples. Once his Flower was completely out of words, only able to moan or gasp as he was caressed and teased, Jaskier slowly removed his fingers from Geralt’s well-slicked hole. All his Witcher could do was groan in protest and lean up for a kiss, which was quickly granted. “Relax, darling. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“Hmm.” Geralt laid his head back against the pillow again and let his amber gaze drift across his Beloved’s youthful face. There were few people he would allow to see him this vulnerable, but this was his true love. His Jaskier. 

The bard coated his own leaking cock with a generous amount of the sweet-smelling oil and leaned over Geralt. His lips trekked across the Witcher’s collarbone as he gently and very slowly eased the head of his cock into Geralt’s waiting body. He paused, breathing slowly, waiting for the Witcher to move or make a noise.

Geralt was in total bliss. The burn and stretch were mildly uncomfortable for the first few seconds, but as soon as he adjusted to Jaskier’s size and shape, he was eager for more. It had been so long since anyone had willingly touched him like this,  _ petted  _ at him like this.  _ Fucked him  _ like this. Geralt tilted his hips back, forcing his Beloved even further inside him. “C’mon, Jas. More.”

“Greedy,” the bard teased, pressing forward at a snail’s pace until his pelvis was pressed against Geralt’s ass and he bottomed out. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Can’t.”

“I can. It’s not too hard to hurt someone like this and you must know that I simply won’t have it. This is supposed to feel  _ good,  _ love.”

“Does feel good. Too slow.”

“Ah, I see.”

Jaskier pulled back slightly and snapped forward, slamming the blunt head of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside Geralt that would send him reeling. And so it did. The Witcher’s pupils were blown wide, nearly eclipsing the gold of his irises as Jaskier began to pound into him. He released a long, low sound that had the bard stuttering his pace already as Jaskier hit his mark after every thrust. “Damnit,” the bard grunted, starting to develop a steadier pace. “You feel better than I could have ever imagined.”

“So do you.”

For a moment or two after that comment, the only sounds in the room were Jaskier’s heavy breathing, Geralt’s half-bitten-off cries or groans of pleasure, and the slapping of skin on skin. The bard sucked a deep purple mark into the side of Geralt’s neck as he picked up the pace, angling himself so that his Flower would feel  _ so good  _ every time he drove into him. “Touch me!”

Jaskier obliged, fisting Geralt’s cock as he continued to chase his own release. The Witcher was practically writhing beneath him, legs splayed wide and wanton like a woman of ill repute, face flushed red with pleasure, and sweat-damp hair nown clinging to his forehead and neck. What a fucking picture. What beautiful ballads he could write (but never would). Jaskier was awestruck. “Gods, I love you.”

“ _ Jaskier!”  _ Geralt wasn’t going to last much longer at this pace. Neither was his Beloved. Heat coiled low in the Witcher’s abdomen and black spots pricked at the edge of his vision. It felt so  _ good.  _ Jaskier wasn’t too long or too thick; he filled Geralt to the brim in a way that was  _ just right.  _ And gods, he kept hitting that fucking  _ spot  _ that made Geralt’s spine go molten with heat and pleasure. He didn’t even realize how close he was getting to-

“Fuck, Geralt, I’m-” Jaskier’s face and chest were turning pink with exertion, sweat shining on his shoulders and pecs. Geralt’s hands reached up to grasp at Jaskier’s shoulders as he teetered over the edge of orgasm.

“Agh!” the Witcher's body flexed, his muscles jumping against his skin as he came harder than he ever had before in his seventy years of life. “Jas!”

As his Beloved’s body tightened around him and Geralt’s eyes rolled back into his head from the overwhelmingly delicious  _ sensation _ of it all, Jaskier’s thrusts took on a frantic pace. His Flower’s body beneath him felt  _ too  _ good. It felt  _ all-encompassing.  _ Perhaps even a little  _ earth shattering.  _ He’d never felt so completely fulfilled as he thrust forward one final time, drawing a surprisingly high whine from Geralt and low moan from himself when he came. 

Once they’d taken a moment to catch their breaths, the Witcher lowered his legs and helped Jaskier remove his softened cock from inside him. He missed the feeling of being filled already, but knew that with such an enthusiastic and caring partner it wouldn’t be long before they could do it again. Maybe try a different position, maybe try doing something less conventional, maybe tr-

“Geralt?” Jaskier ran a finger along his cheekbone, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear a word I’ve been saying?”

“No, sorry.”

“That’s alright,” the indulgent smile on the bard’s face was reassuring. “I just asked if you wanted me to clean us up.”

“Hmm, that’d be nice.”

“Let me up, then.”

Geralt released his Beloved from his arms only long enough for Jaskier to wet a rag from the cupboard and wipe them both clean. Then he was hauling the bard back into bed with him, wrapping the slender man in a particularly soft blanket. He tucked Jaskier’s head beneath his chin and breathed in deeply. The contentment he felt was bone-deep. “No ballads about this.”

“You’re just being rude, now.”

“Hmm. Don’t want other people knowing how good you are in bed.”

“Arse.”

“Hmm.”

With his nose pressed into the dip at the base of Geralt’s throat and his hands resting against the Witcher’s chest, Jaskier breathed deeply. “I feel...good.”

“Me too, Beloved.”

“I love it when you call me that. Do you mind when I call you Flower?”

“No. It’s sweet. Perhaps the sweetest nickname I’ve ever been given.”

“I’ll try not to say it in front of your brothers.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

“I want to see Lambert’s face. I’m sure he’ll tease me forever, but that  _ look  _ would be worth it.”

“I love you, Flower.”

“Hmm. And I you, Beloved.”

“Get some sleep, White Wolf. I’m sure we have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Geralt took another deep breath. Pine from the bed, chamomile from Jaskier’s hair, that springtime smell the bard always carried, and something spicy that covered them both.  _ Yeah,  _ he thought with a smile,  _ I could get used to this.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bard life is a hard life, please let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Prompts are also welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Toss some validation to your author, oh fandom of plenty!


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